Dinner
by Noneofthecabswouldtakeme
Summary: John cooks, Sherlock helps, and there is a little Harry Potter discussed. Just some domestic fluff.


He wasn't sure long he had been within his mind palace but what finally brought him out of it was a strong delicious smell permeating from the kitchen. Before he even opened his eyes he was able to tell that John had come home already and with groceries. He got off the couch and made his way over to the kitchen, the socks on his feet preventing him from making much noise, and stood for a moment just watching as John chopped the tomatoes for the salad he was preparing. Then as if he could sense his presence John looked over his shoulder and flashed him a smile before focusing back on his task.

"Finally aware of the world then?"

"It would seem so." He replied as he walked up next to John. "What are you cooking?" He asked, which earned him a raised eyebrow and if asking him 'What? Didn't you already deduce it?' which of course he did -lasagna- but he had learned that it was considered polite to make conversation.

"Lasagna, and you will be eating it, but I didn't put much tomato sauce in it, I know you hate it when it's runny."

"I'm sure it will taste fantastic." John didn't look up, but he would have had to be oblivious to not see he was smiling. "Shall I make the dressing?"

"That would be perfect, thank you."

"Balsamic, correct?" Sherlock asked already taking out the ingredients for it.

"Of course. So hows your mind palace? Finish up all your work there?" John asked, a hint of teasing in his voice, as he started slicing the mushrooms.

"Fine. I was just installing a quidditch pitch. Not done with it yet, and I'm not sure of what use it would be for."

"That seems nice." He replied automatically, but quickly took a double take. "Excuse me? A Quidditch pitch? Like from Harry Potter?"

"Yes, you seemed very fond of the series, considering you have read all the books and how you still cry when Snape dies in the movie. And there are some similarities between the castle of Hogwarts and my palace, mine of course being better in structure and design, as well as being much more organized than the schooling system they have."

"I do not cry." John protested bringing the knife down harder than before as he cut up the red peppers.

"No, of course not, how silly of me." They didn't speak for a moment before John seemed to relent a little and didn't seem capable of holding back a smile.

"Ok, maybe I sometimes I tear up a little." He finally admitted sheepishly.

"You, as always, are right John." He said sarcastically. Johns only reply was to nudge him in the ribs, while trying to hold back a giggle as he finished up the salad.

Anything more they may have said was cut off as the timer for the oven went off, and John went to grab the oven mits to take the dish out. "Sherlock do you think you could..."

"Already on it." Sherlock interrupted him, showing him he was already putting the ingredients in the bowl with the lettuce and tossing it.

John rested the glass dish on the top of the oven and started to scoop the both of them a generous amount of the pasta on each dish. Sherlock then took each plate and put on some salad and then drizzled on his homemade dressing. The two of them then sat in each of their respective spots across from each other on the table and dug in.

The two of them had been eating in a comfortable silence for a while before Sherlock spoke again, not looking up from his plate and trying to look casual. "If you were interested I could always teach you how to make you own?"

"My own what?" John asked looking up at him as he took a bite, causing the detective to roll his eyes.

"A mind palace John."

"Oh." Was all John answered with as he stared into the distance, brows furrowed as he chewed thoughtfully. "I don't think I could, don't you have to have to a lot of focus for that?"

"Anyone is capable of creating one, it's hardly that complex, well mine is but you wouldn't be making anything like mine, not at first at least. You are right though, about it requiring focus and some patience, but you are capable of that." John hummed, neither saying yes or no to the idea of making a mind palace, he would have to think on it. He wasn't sure if Sherlock would make a good teacher at anything. They were once again surrounded in silence as they ate, until, yet again, Sherlock broke it.

"I hadn't known you could cook, well, until recently, it's quite a change."

"What do you mean? I was always cooking when I lived here before?"

"Prepackaged food does not count."

"But..." He started to protest weakly.

"It was either that, toast, toast and Jam, toast and beans, take away, food from Ms. Hudson, or we would just eat out."

"Psh, that's not all I made." He exclaimed definitely.

"Really? Do tell what I missed." Sherlock drawled.

"I will have you know I also made toast and eggs." John said, back straightening as if in pride.

"I hate eggs." Sherlock stated, nose scrunching up in distaste. The two of them stared down the other, a glitter of amusement behind each of their eyes before they both broke and started laughing.

"Yeah I got pretty sick of them too." John breathed out between chuckles before he lifted his fork to start eating again, but then brought it back down again, a look of concern on his face. "I can't believe I didn't ever make a real meal, you would have thought I would have tried to make you something healthy considering how little you would eat."

"I think you were more concerned with stuffing whatever you could in me."

"To true." He said with a shrug, and serving himself some more salad.

"I'm assuming that this change in cooking talents would have something to do with Mary no doubt?" Sherlock asked, not sure how John would react. Sherlock was always a little hesitant to bring Mary up, especially when John had first moved back in, but he was better about it now. And wasn't it supposed to be good for people to learn how to talk about things like this?

"Well, I guess, I've always been able to cook pretty well, but have been too lazy to. Mary preferred home cooked meals though, but since she was a bloody terrible cook it was up to me to make them."

"Well I'm glad you're making them for me now, I've been missing out all these years it seems."

"Yeah sorry about that." He said some what sarcastically. "When I first moved in with you I was kind of out of practice, you know being in that army for the past few years."

"There are no excuses for you John." The detective said, to which John rolled his eyes. "So how did you learn then?"

"What can't you deduce it?"

"I can't know everything, besides you don't have many things from before your army days."

"Admitting then that you have snooped through my stuff." He said with a cheeky grin.

"Answer the question." Was all that John got back along with an eyeroll.

"I learned from both my parents. When I was younger the two of them would switch off days when they would cook. They would have me and Harry help sometimes with the easy stuff when we were younger, and when were old enough started having us do it by ourselves. Though it always seemed to be me doing it considering how little Harry came home early enough to do it in high school." He said a little sadly, but then quickly moved on before lingering on it. "Everyone in cooking ed was either jealous of me or wanted to be my partner. Man, I've gotten a few girls 'cause of my cooking."

"I'll be sure to add that to the list of hidden talents on your online dating profile."

"What? Tell me you didn't make me one?" John asked panicky, to which he received a suspicious looking smirk for before Sherlock answered.

"Of course not John."

"Arse." John muttered, before taking the last bite of his meal, Sherlock already having finished. "You know, I'm not the only one who's changed, you have too you know."

"How so?" He asked in confused, eyebrows meeting together above his nose as the two of them started to clean up. John just shrugged not answering, smiling as he started filling the dishwasher.

"When I first moved back to baker street, there was nothing I wanted more than everything going back to the way it was, well, _before_." John said, indicating the time before the fall. Sherlock listened even more confused now and just a little apprehensive. "I was afraid of everything changing between us, never being able to get back to the way we so easily fit together. But it's like everything changed while nothing changed at all, and you know I find myself liking it quite a bit." He finished with a deep breath finally looking up to the dark haired man with a shy smile. "I'm glad things have changed for us, if that makes any sense to you, it's like we're closer."

John looked back down and then closed the dishwasher, and then started to get the plastic wrap to cover the lasagna. Sherlock didn't say anything, and after a moment of hesitation he walked up to the shorter man and hesitantly wrapped his arms around him. John didn't hesitate for a moment in wrapping his arms around the other man's waist and squeezing them into a closer embrace, and taking a deep breath of Sherlock's expensive shampoo before letting go again. John coughed once before speaking again, as if trying to get himself back together again.

"Yes, well, thank you. I'm going to go down ask Ms. Hudson if she would like any of our food, I think I heard her come back while we were eating."

"Very well, tell her I said hello." And John gave a nod, before walking out of the room and down the stairs.

Sherlock heard the faint sounds of chatter coming from below as he returned to lying down on his spot on the sofa, and went about adding some bludgers to fly around the new Quidditch pitch in his mind palace. And if he added John flying around in a Quidditch uniform, no one had to know.

 **A/N: Just a little scene I wrote, may late put it in a larger story**


End file.
